


memories of me, of you, of us

by knifepyjamas



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Autistic Charles, Backstory, Cactus Park, Charles is NOT just a normal guy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Kevin, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parenthood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religion, Theology, Trans Charles, Trans Kevin, Trans Male Character, hes got some supernatural shit going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifepyjamas/pseuds/knifepyjamas
Summary: Various rambles about my hcs for Kevin's and Charles's backstories and life together
Relationships: Charles & Donovan & Kevin (Welcome to Night Vale), Charles/Kevin (Welcome to Night Vale), Kevin & Intern Vanessa, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Past Charles/Original Female Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. The Storm is the Least of Our Concerns

It's 8:37 A.M. and the ripping pressure of a severe storm is suffocating. Charles feels it as humid, heavy claws digging their way into his skull. His head pounds in time with the near-constant shrieks of thunder tearing across the sky. More of the tempest's dense hands force their way into his throat, blocking all but a sliver of airway. He's gasping for oxygen in the tidy little nursery, hand clutching his forehead as if his grip is the only thing keeping him from splitting open and spilling onto the floor.

Something is very, very wrong. Of course something was wrong in general: Cactus Park was a desert, and, although it rained quite a bit more often than the neighbouring towns (one of Charles's favourite traits of his lovely hometown), it was never this much. Never this hard. Never this _painful_. And yeah, maybe strange, inexplicable, and dangerous things happen all the time in the Park, this should be nothing new, but he _knows_. Something about this curs'ed storm is so much bigger, so much worse.

He forces his eyes to actually see his surroundings as his gaze shifts from nothing to the softly-painted crib he sits next to. His little boy lays sound asleep within, unaffected by the crushing weight of the storm. He wants to- he should- be grinning at the sight of his beloved Donovan in such peace. He should, but anxiety and paranoia have filled up his lungs and he is _drowning_. He is afraid, no, no! He is terrified of something happening to Donnie. His son, barely a month old, if he were to- if anything- Gods, he can't even begin to think along those lines without his damn anxiety overflowing and pouring from his eyes.

He was terrified, too, for Elana. However much the horrid weather was tormenting him in his own home, it must be multitudes worse for her at The Factory. He knows his wife's- his... his friend's anxiety is just as malicious as his. She must be petrified there. His optimism reminded him that at the very least, like this their worries aren't feeding on and fueling the other's in a sort of toxic ritual. Charles misses when they wouldn't, when Ellie's presence would soothe the beast rather than rile it. He still doesn't know what he'd do if anything happened to her. Be them married, or co-parenting friends and housemates no longer together because they realized that's what was best for them and Donnie, or whatever else, he loves her. He doubts he'll ever stopped loving her.

A gentle stirring of movement flicks Charles's eyes into focus, and he does grin as Donovan slowly awakes without a sound. His eyes are still very sleepy, but there's that wonder and curiosity set in the ones of every child. The eyes of experiencing existence for the first time. Or, perhaps, experiencing existence anew. From the beginning.

Donnie's eyes are orange. His scleras are white as is typical for humans, but his irises are a bright sunny orange, boarding on glowing. He also has no pupil, rather his iris just darkens in the centre, like a sunflower. Not too odd until you consider that neither Charles nor the donor have eyes like that. Charles's are a dark, golden brown. The donor's a light hazel, the same as Ellie's. They wanted to have the donor look as close to her as possible: same sandy irises and straight, amber hair.

Donnie's eyes may not match his legal mother's, but it's too early to tell who's hair he has. Charles thinks Ellie's rust colour would look adorable with his eyes.

Seeing Donovan smiling at him through the hand he has placed in his mouth calms Charles some. He takes a deep breath and clicks on the radio on the end table next to him, which nobs and buttons are painted with various animal heads. It stirred to life the moment he pressed down on the giraffe's toothy snout, it's sound now fills the room. Radio would help him calm down more, right? The Voice of Cactus Park will help.

He was wrong. So, so very wrong.

_"I regret to inform you listeners, that the severe flooding caused by the storm has completely filled several buildings in Old Town Cactus Park with water. Specifically the RadioShack, the ShackRadio, Ollie's Omnipotent Omlettes, The Factory, and the house of Beth Wallis. The are... unfortunately, no survivors of the flooding."_

The world shatters. No. It doesn't shatter, it falls. Crumbles piece by piece until Charles finds himself nowhere. He can't see. Not because it's dark (its not) or because there's no light (though there isn't), but because there isn't anything to be seen. He's choking, choking on tears and on this suffocating _nothingness_ that has stolen the place of the suffocating storm, leaving no trace of it having ever been there. The empty is worse than the storm because the storm wanted to hurt him, to leave him a puddle of fear and aching. More importantly, the storm wouldn't come back like the nothingness.

This nothingness didn't want to hurt him. It wanted to take him and take him and take him until he wasn't anyone nor was ever anything at all. But it wouldn't. Not unless Charles allows it. But it keeps coming back, and always at his worst moments. Every time he had refused, forcing existence back into place.

This time, he sits there in the nothing and sobs into the sleeves of his sweater pulled over his palms until they're soaked through. Until his tear ducts sting and drip blood. Until he cannot feel anything at all. He succumbs.

Almost. 

He thinks of Donovan. His little boy, always so silent and with the sun in his eyes. Barely a month old. Now without a mother. He can't let him lose his father too. More than that, Charles cannot lose Donnie. He cannot _ever_ lose Donnie.

Charles pushes off the nothing and begins to search the nowhere for the pieces of his world to put back together once again.


	2. We All Get Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for clarification, these are not in chronological order, they're just in order of the concepts I feel like writing. Some will also be shorter than others

_Charles sits in one of the wicker chairs in the corner of his living room. He, passive in his pace and intent, scribbles notes into a journal. It's a new one, boasting a metal spine and pink magnolia pattern. He can't quite remember where he got it, and it feels special for some reason._

_He has the radio on, and the opening music of the show has been playing for some time now. Playing for much longer than it should. Charles spares an idle glance at the device, and allows himself to have a few moments of panicked paranoia as all Cactus Park citizens should before pushing it back down in favour of the idle interest in his research._

_Sudden taps against the house's roof and windows signify the start of rain, like the water tapping impatient fingers as it deals with having to spend time in the little town. Charles chuckles to himself and apologizes to the air, though he does enjoy when rain takes the time to visit._

_Unlike the usual visits, however, this rain begins to pour. Hard bangs assaulting his home one after the other, so loud it makes him cover his ears in an attempt to silence the noise even the slightest. It doesn't work._

_He needs to check on Donovan, to comfort him through this storm. He doesn't want to imagine how much the noise must be hurting his sensitive ears. He also needs to check on Ellie- is she even home? Charles can't seem to remember what the day is, or even what time it is around. Maybe Ellie's already comforting Donnie? That must be what's happening, why there's no cries coming from a rudely awakened newborn._

_Actually, where is the nursery? Charles stands, still planning to check on Donnie and Ellie anyway, and his journal slips from his grip. Instead of hitting the floor with a clatter like it should, it falls silently through the wood. From where it fell, ripples move through the floor, dizzying him and sending matching waves of painful panic and raw dread coursing through his body._

_It's then he notices the thin layer of water that has draped itself across the entirety of the living room floor. Maybe his journal didn't fall through the floor, merely through the water he didn't take note of? But there isn't enough water to have submerged it._

_Except there is. Maybe there wasn't before, but now the liquid laps hungrily at Charles's ankles. It's flooding. He needs needs needs to get Donnie and Ellie. Is it flooding in the other rooms- have they noticed- is it higher there-_

_He prepares to bolt through a hallway that he hopes leads to the nursery only to look up and see no hallway. No doors either. Or windows. His living room was now a wooden box impossible to exit. It's not surprising that he begins to cry, hopelessness and terror taking over his body. He still tries to run for where he thinks the hallway was, but he can't. The water, now up to his shins and still rapidly rising, pulls his legs down, keeping him in place._

_Oh gods, are Donovan and Elana trapped too? He can't get the image beginning to form to leave him. Ellie, trembling and heaving sobs just like he is, clutching Donnie as close yet as high as she can as the water tortures them with their fate. Would Donovan know what was happening? Or would he just be an alarmed witness to his mother's secondhand knowledge of their inevitable de-_

_"NO! STOP! PLEASE!"_

_Charles finds himself shouting, pleading, unsure of what or at whom. The water's at his waist, and it's freezing. He's never felt anything so cold._

_"ELLIE? ELLIE ARE YOU OKAY?"_

_There's no response. He's not sure if she can even hear him, but he somehow knows for certain now that she is home. He wraps his arms around himself, but is no match for the icy waves now just below his chest._

_He's still crying and calling out, incapable of movement, when the water begins to overtake him. In some cruel decision, his legs unlock only now. He tries to kick his way to the surface as he's submerged, only to find that he can't. He doesn't know how to swim. He used to know._

_His chest burns as his gasps for air instead fill his lungs with fluid. His body is pleading with him to get out of the water and he's crying back that he can't. It's not long before he'll be covered completely, the little oxygen he could manage to collect far too high to reach. There's some kind of weight keeping him trapped standing, like someone holding him in place._

_He apologizes again, this time to the water, as his hands clutch his throat and he is overtaken._

"Charles! Charles, darling, it's okay!"

It takes Charles a moment to realize where he is. He's laying in his bed, in his room, in his house, in Desert Bluffs Too. There's no water, no storm, though his hands still clutch at his neck. His throat and chest still ache.

Next to him, Kevin lays propped up to watch him, his hand a comforting weight on his shoulder. He looks... mildly scared? Charles feels guilt and anxiety overwhelm his confused fear. Nightmares are commonplace with Kevin, and he has no problem comforting him or giving him the space he needs when they happen. But _Charles_ having severe nightmares? Kevin didn't sign up for that. 

"Hey-"

Kevin's voice is soft and Charles melts into it, a reaction that causes the feeling of guilt in his chest to swell.

"-You're safe. If anything- anyone- wanted to hurt you, they'd end up a centrepiece! Can I hug you?"

Charles nods vigorously, then tries to subtly wipe his eyes. Kevin wraps his arms around him and his near-burning heat (he's still yet to find out why his body temperature is so high) is a much welcome contrast to the cold sweat that coats him. 

He wraps himself around Kevin, even tighter than Kevin is holding him. His clothes are always soft, presumably to prevent any pain that can be prevented from his injuries. The silk sweater he's wearing right now in particular makes a great place for Charles to bury his face and try to steady his breath.

Kevin has a fascinating smell. He should carry the overwhelming, nauseating stentch of rot and decay and blood. In all technicality, Charles supposes he does. But rather than in their typically sickly sweet way, it's just the sweet Kevin carries. He wishes he knew how to describe it properly. He's sugarwater and honey pork and something vaguely floral. There's also the scent of freshly rained upon soil. Oddly enough, it's that that Charles finds the most comforting. 

He kisses Kevin, long but sweet. Until he feels steady enough to talk. Still, he says little:

"Drowning."

Is all he whispers against Kevin's lips. Kevin nods and kisses him again, a hand moves to rub circles against his chest. It takes a bit more time before he feels ready to stand, but once he is he eases himself of the bed. He squeezes Kevin's hand before he starts to head into the hallway.

"I... need to check on Donnie, just to make sure..."

He doesn't finish his explanation. Kevin understands.


	3. That's One Way To Tire Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do I know if this is good? no! am I posting it anyway? yes! this chapter is just smut

Four in the morning isn't a time Charles usually finds himself awake. He's not _not_ a morning person, but he wouldn't say he is one either, and either way four is a little drastic of a time to be up, right? It is also a Saturday which is, in his opinion, the best days to sleep in. Unfortunately, the gods decided he wouldn't have that today. Insomnia had grab hold of him and bitterly refused to let go. He spent most of the night in bed still, curled up next to Kevin trying to get as much actual rest as he could. 

Eventually though, he had enough of lying sleepless. Maybe if he got some grading done now, that would leave extra time for him to sleep tomorrow. So now he finds himself staring down at wordy papers through bleary eyes, trying his best to read them. 

He didn't want to, if he was being honest. Normally he didn't mind grading, but his exhausting, aching head sure does now. He's doing it anyway out of a hope that if he keeps going he'll wear himself out enough to sleep. The swell of stress in his chest isn't a great sign for his plan, but hey. What other choice does he have?

He finds out when something burning brushes against his leg. He jumps at the temperature and contact, almost tipping out of his chair. The pen he was grading with is his best option for a weapon, so he grips it like one as he ducks to see what is lurking under his desk.

"Hello! Oh are you going to pull that pen on me? You could always use my knife~"

Charles breaks into laughter at the sight of Kevin kneeling in the space. How'd he not notice him wake up? Or get under there?

"What are you doing down there, sunshine?"

Kevin clicks his tongue and shakes his head. One of his hands come to rest on Charles's leg

"Well, you haven't slept. That's not good for you, you know."

"I can't exactly control that, Kevin. I-"

A finger pressing against his mouth shut him up, and Kevin continues.

"And to try to help, you just start stressing yourself out. That's not healthy Charles! You tell me all the time not to stress myself out with work. Don't be so hypocritical."

He has a point. Charles sighs and sets the pen on the desk in an expression of "yeah, you're right" and takes off his glasses. They get placed next to the pen, and he begins to organize the papers to put them away.

"You still haven't explained why you're down there, you know."

The sound Kevin makes he guesses to be a stifled giggle. Even not looking at him, he knows the look of mischief that is undoubtedly plastered on his face.

"Stress relief! A _certain_ stress relief. Isn't it obvious?"

"It is, I just want to hear you say it."

Kevin snorts. The hand on Charles's leg begins to slowly creep up, which serves in boosting the warmth that pools in him when Kevin bluntly states:

"I'm going to fuck you with my tongue until you can't feel anything at all~!"

It was certainly more than the "I'm going to eat you out" that Charles was expecting, but then again, Kevin wasn't one to hold back.

"Well, I'll let you get on with that then."

Everything else begins to turn cold as Kevin moves closer and Charles feels his hot breath through his briefs. His hands grip his thighs, nails pressing against him but not enough to puncture anything. For a few moments, Kevin doesn't move, simply breaths against him. Charles is about to complain that this kind of teasing wasn't a very good stress reliever when warmth presses against him. The heat and wetness of Kevin's tongue are still very present despite the fabric as he licks Charles through his boxers. He shakes out a breath and adjusts his position to spread his legs apart as much as he could with the desk. Kevin licks him again, this time lingering on his dick. He groans and leans back, still trying to find the best angle.

By the time Charles's manages to get his papers cleaned up and away, his boxers are soaked with saliva and slick. He peers down at Kevin who grins at him, lips shining with spit. His hands slide up his thighs, coming to grip the boxers' band. He pauses there, and Charles watches him tilt his head up ever so slightly, as he does when he's thinking. Upon deciding, he shrugs. Then, in one impressive motion, he rips the fabric off.

"Holy shit, Kevin! I- those-"

"They were ruined anyway~!"

Before Charles could say anything more, Kevin's tongue plunges into him. His words are instead replaced with a heavy moan that accompanies him throwing back his head. 

There are many traits of Kevin's that Charles has become so accustomed to that he practically forgets about them. He's come to expect the almost sandpaper-like feeling of his scarred tongue in his mouth during deep kisses, but it completely slipped his mind that he'd be feeling it other places.

Another moan is pulled from him as Kevin's mouth wraps around his dick. Subconsciously, he folds his legs around him. Kevin giggles against him, the vibrations making Charles pull him as close as he could. 

When Kevin pulls off his dick and returns to thrusting his tongue in and out of him, it's fast and sloppy. He's taking advantage of Charles's extreme sensitivity everywhere. That is on him, telling Kevin that ever since Sensation Day he thinks he can cum from so little as just his skin being touched and expecting him not to use that would be ridiculous.

That said, the circles Kevin's hands are rubbing onto his thighs are doing nearly as much as his mouth. Charles's eyes close and he stops focusing on any one sensation. He can feel the pressure and heat building in his gut.

"You taste good."

Charles opens his eyes to look at Kevin. He's grinning up at him, as expected. A trail of saliva connects his mouth to him, and he moans at the sight. He doesn't complain when Kevin mouths "want a taste?" then surges up to kiss him. It's not too surprising for Charles that it's when Kevin's hands cup his face and he can taste himself on him that he comes. He grinds against Kevin until he goes numb, then slumps back in his chair. 

"How are you feeling, babe?"

He smiles at Kevin, taking the new pair of boxers he grabbed for him.

"Sleepy. And not stressed. So thanks for that.

"Good! Now you can get to sleep a-"

"Yes! But first-"

Charles stands up and kisses Kevin on his hand, before kneeling in front of him.

"Could you drop your robe, my love?"


	4. God is... Let Me Check My Notes and I'll Get Back to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe tma reference :3

Kevin watches in genuine curiosity as Charles pulls out notebook after binder after notebook. Each one is practically bursting with papers and sticky notes. They're all different styles, too. He carefully picks up the one labeled "Islam" and admires the intricate gold painted upon the (unfortunately) faux leather. Although he admires the care and hard work that undoubtedly went into making that mosaic pattern, tiling together different _real_ leathers would look so much better! He sets the notebook back down, storing that idea away as a future gift for Charles.

"Okay, that's all of them. I think."

When he had asked Charles to show him all the theological work he had done, he wasn't expecting this. Charles's kitchen table is completely covered by books, notes, religious iconography and paraphernalia, and relics. There's also no shortage of what are undoubtedly human remains, something that he find quite interesting.

"Oh Charlie, these are delightful-"

Kevin leans down to inspect a mummified bust covered in cracks that must've been injuries when the person was alive.

"-Which one's your favorite?"

Charles begins to speak as he glances at all the items on the table, but falls silent as his eyes pass over one. Strange, as it's just another journal. It has a metal spine and a pink magnolia pattern that's just gorgeous! Looking at it, however, Charles's face flashes between confusion, fear, and something he can only describe as dark. He murmers something to himself before moving on to grab two objects: one of the largest and oldest looking binders and a smaller, fairly simple composition notebook.

"This one's my Arboreal notes and research."

Charles pulls out a chair and sits, opening the binder. His smile is fond, nostalgic.

"It's the first religion I ever studied. It was the easiest one to start with, I mean, I still participated in it myself when I began. I could start with what I know, ask the elder for more in-depth information, then branch out to other people and sects in the faith when she ran out of things she could teach me."

Kevin nods, reading snippets of the many writings stuffed into the folder. He wonders if any of them would spark his own memory. He remembers that he was raised Arboreal, but nothing about the religion itself. Any attempts to recall his temple or any elders yielding no results. Funny thing, memory. How it loves to hide from you! The most he can manage to scrounge up is one of his mothers arguing with the other and his father about how she wanted to raise the kids Jewish, but lost on the 1-to-2 vote.

"This one, well-"

Charles places the Arboreal binder back on top of the pile and turns his attention to the composition notebook. It's not particularly interesting to look at, exactly what you'd expect from one. Smallish, flimsy, inducing a nostalgia that lies to you about how much easier you had it as a kid. The cover design appears to resemble a foggy pine forest overlayed with heavy static, but Kevin's not quite sure if he's just seeing that.

"It was parting gift from the Pine Cliff city council, given to me exactly as I started my car to leave. City Council was always late doing... anything, actually. It's part of the reason the Great Cataclysm of 2008 happened- anyway, it's also the easiest paper I had access to and, therefore, the one you-"

He flips open to the front page and written clearly- despite the shakiness- across the entire sheet of paper is a number. Kevin's number.

"I think, normally, I would've gone for a much nicer notebook for my research on the Joyous Congregation, but the founding prophet writing his number on this one? That has to be some sort of sign."

Whenever Charles chuckles- or laughs at all- it's soft. His voice is always a little too quiet, just enough to make him hard to understand sometimes, but his laughs especially so. Kevin understands enough- has _been through_ enough- to know that it's not how he naturally is. The very thought that someone or something could've hurt Charles the way he's been hurt is appalling. It also makes him very, very unhappy.

"Am I the first founding prophet you've met?"

"No, but you are only the second. I met this man once, his name was... uhh..."

Charles closes the Joyous Congregation notebook and places it atop the Aboreal one. A fang catches his lip and he closes his eyes in concentration.

"Alexander... no... Maximilian... Max... Maxwell! Maxwell Rayner! Sound familiar?"

Even with Kevin's memory problems, he firmly believes he's never heard of the man.

"No."

"I met him while on a research trip in Tee-ez-us, the café I was at had just had a power outage- which by the way, really scared a lot of people for some reason? I was sitting outside so I wasn't in it when it got dark, but there was a lot of screaming, and for a long time too. Anyway, this guy dressed like an old-timey undertaker comes out and I ask him what's going on. He grins as me and twirls his mustache and tells me in what I think is a New Jair-see accent that there's been a power outage. I thank him for telling me, and I go to return to my eclair, but then I notice the necklace he's wearing. A palm with a closed eye in the middle. Do you know that?"

Kevin shakes his head, playfully swatting Charles's arm.

"Just because I'm a religious leader doesn't mean I know every other religious leader, Charles."

"Okay, okay. Anywho, it was clearly a religious symbol so, as a Theologist, I decide to ask him about it. He looked very pleased when I did! He told me how he was the leader for 'The People's Church of the Divine Host', and I don't remember the rest. Something about fear and some guy named Pitch? It wasn't much he told me anyway. I asked him if I could study this Church of the Divine Host, and he once again enthusiastically told me yes, but..."

Charles shakes his head, looking exasperated.

"He told me the Church was based in London!"

Kevin himself blinked in exasperation and disbelief.

"But England's not-"

"Not real, I know! He could've just said no instead of telling me too look for them in Wonderland or whatever. And he had the nerve to look confused when I got angry at him for acting like I'm stupid enough to believe in England! He wasn't even the first person to turn me down like that, I don't know why people keep doing it!"

Charles throws his hands up in frustration, and Kevin can't help but laugh. He's cute when he gets worked up- of course not as much as when he's happy.

"It's because you're a softie, moth! They see you and they think-"

He comically deepens his voice-

"Oh! This man's so kind and polite-looking and very, very cute I bet he's so naive and will easily be tricked into embarrassing himself so I can see how much cuter he gets when he's flustered!"

It's Charles's turn to laugh now- still quiet, still afraid. It's not particularly noticeable, not to people who don't know him the way Kevin does, but Charles does blush. His cheeks, nose, ears, and neck change ever so slightly to a pinker undertone. He also has this certain nervous smile, and while he's never been one for eye contact with anyone but Kevin (which is probably because looking into nothing is easier than looking into someone's eyeball), his gaze doesn't leave the ground aside from the occasional flick upwards to see if he's still being observed.

"Baby, please, they wouldn't think that! That's you thinking that! A biased point of view!"

"Perhaps. Perhaps you're just adorable and you should accept it!"

In fact, he knows one of the things Charles looks best doing.

"Could you tell me about some of these religions? Anything you want about any of them, I want to hear it!"

Charles eyes light up- literally, they flash a bright pink for a moment, not unlike a branch of lightning against a sky- at being asked about his special interest. He rapidly pats his hands against a book, scanning over all his work.

"Where to begin! There's so much I could tell you about! How about- do you know anything about Scientology, Kevin?"


	5. On and On this Desert Goes, Yet We Are Alone

The desert here expands on for eternity. On and on and on it goes, yet with so very little to fill it. In its infinite vast, there exist only three things: a man, a woman, and a town. Charles, the man, sits on a cliff that overlooks the desert, and the woman sits next to him. Far from them- but still so close within this never-ending stretch of land- stands the town.

Perhaps stands isn't the correct word. No, the town shifts, changes. It ripples as buildings disappear and appear, shrink and grow, form an unsteady gradient of colors. There's more that's changing, Charles knows, but he cannot see past the buildings. The town is too far, the shifts too fast, everything too blurry.

"Can I vent?"

He asks the woman.

"Yes."

The woman replies.

"Sometimes, a lot more than I I'm comfortable with, I... I wish I never had Donnie. I love him so much, he's my everything, I've told you this again and again, which is exactly why I wish that those sometimes. I knew, I _knew_ to have a child was to put them in danger, but I was selfish. I put my desperation for a family, for a normal fucking life before this child. I put myself before him."

Nausea is overwhelming in this desert. It's one of the only things there is to feel here. It's source isn't visible, never was, but it's so strong that if he didn't know better, he'd be frantically searching for whatever disgusting sight or scent must be twisting his gut. But he does, he knows better. That knowledge is why he so idly, so casually leans over the cliff's edge and vomits- an action he's done many times tonight.

"I know selfish, Charles, and you're not it. Not more than any other human. Whether or not they target your son too is not a fault of yours, but a fault of theirs. You have no control over it."

The woman's dress is dirty, tattered like it was rotting around her. It was. Charles's pants are in no better of a state. The wool, torn and ragged, are fallen holiday lights, trailing pathetically onto the sand. His cardigan, too, is stringy. Moth-eaten, with a large patch of mold across the left breast. 

"But they wouldn't if it weren't for me. I mean- they must have- that's what has to have happened to Ellie, they saw how much she meant to me and... then they use what happened to torment me, that has to be what..."

Ants swarm his cardigan. They burrow between its weavings and feast on the mold. Some of them, the curious ones, the adventurous ones, explore his arms. It tickles, and it itches, and their bites burn. He does not pay attention to the ants.

"What happened to poor Elana was nothing more than an unfortunate, but normal, accident. Your night terrors, Charles, your fears, your flashbacks to that day are not forms of torture from angry beings. They're how humans react to traumatic events."

They continue to sit next to each other in silence for a while, watching the city pulsate and reform. It's cold in this desert, an unnatural, lifeless cold. It's an internal feeling, one that somehow coexists with Charles's fever. He's so cold. He's burning.

"Do you believe in a Smiling God?"

The woman tilts her head at what she's been asked. She knows him enough though to understand what he means by it.

"I do not know of any Smiling God, but I am not all-knowing. There are things bigger than us that we view as too big to comprehend. There are things smaller than us we view as too small to be significant. I am no different with this. Perhaps It is a god by another name or perhaps It isn't a being at all. However, if there are people believing in something, giving meaning to something, whether it's truly the way they perceive it or not, than it, in some form, exists. So yes, Charles, I believe in a Smiling God."

Charles watches a centipede burrow its way out of the sickly yellowing flesh of his arm. It pulls itself from him, centimeter by centimeter, until it is free. It drops onto the ground in a puddle of blood and scuttles out across the endless sand before disappearing. The ants swarm the bleeding wound it left.

"That's a rather theological answer."

He opens his mouth wide to allow a large cockroach to crawl out. It's slow, traveling up his throat and across his tongue. It, too, falls from him the moment it leaves his body, and it, too, disappears.

"It was a rather theological question."

Once again, Charles leans over the cliff to vomit. The only thing that is pushed from his empty, twisting stomach is blood. He coughs, choking on it until he pushes enough out that he can breathe again. He goes back to watching the town like nothing had happened.

"I have one more question, if that's okay."

The woman has not stopped watching the town. She has never stopped watching the town.

"It is."

Charles wipes his eyes, trying futiley to unblurr his vision, and perhaps to see the details of the town. 

"Do you think it's possible to save them? Not _it_ , not the town, I know that, but _them_ , the people, at least some?"

The woman lets out a long, deep sigh. Her black eyes don't show emotion, but they're not needed to know she's sad.

"I hope, Charles, but I don't think so. I tried once and destroyed it all. We can hope that with individuals it would be different, but they are a part of their town, their reality, just as you are to yours."

When Charles runs his hand through his hair, his fingers come back entangled with thick clumps of it. He cannot stay here for much longer.

"I have to leave soon."

He says.

"I know"

Says the woman.

"Goodbye, Huntokar."

"Farewell, Charles. Thank you for taking the time to visit me again."

The last thing the man sees of the eternal desert is the town alight with a burning, apocalyptic light and drowning in kicked up clouds of sand and ash.


	6. One Day I'll Find the Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones real short and doesn't follow me pov switching every chapter thing but whatever cha boy just needed to cope at 4am

"You shouldn't have to do this."

Charles's voice is barely even a whisper, muffled against the curls of Kevin's hair. He's trembling so much, his body an overactive machine seconds away from imploding in on itself. To try and fix it, his broken machine of a self, he has wrapped himself around Kevin despite being nearly twice his height and thrice his weight. Although he doesn't seem bothered by Charles clinging to him like a lifeline, he would have to be bothered by the shaking.

"Nonsense! It's far from a bother!"

Kevin's voice, too, is muffled. Quieted by Charles's chest where he had nuzzled up against. No doubt that, even through the trembling, he can feel- and maybe even hear- the rapid pulsing and spasming of his heart. It hurts in the way one would assume drowning hurts- _how cruel a specificity_ \- a sting, a burn, and an ache all working together as your lungs desperately try to access what they can not. Charles isn't sure if that's what's happening with his heart, how would he tell if it's receiving blood or not? No matter. No matter what's actually been done to him, and no matter how much it sure as hell feels like it, he knows this will not kill him. No, _He_ couldn't get a kick out of his suffering if he was dead. 

"That doesn't matter, you shouldn't have to..."

He shouldn't have to comfort Charles when his past comes back to bite him in the ass. He shouldn't have to be putting himself in danger just by being close to him. There are so many things he shouldn't have to do that are things Charles doesn't know how to even begin to explain.

"Charles-"

Tilting his head up, Kevin places a soft kiss against his neck. His lips, as with the rest of him, are hot- nearing the point of burning. He never hurts, though. He's sunlight: warm and comforting albeit potentially harmful in the wrong scenarios. It is an interesting contrast to how Charles is always cold. It would be expected of someone of his size to have a warmer body temperature all the time, but very few parts of him ever felt warm. At best he was tepid in places, at worst his hands would be freezing. Having a cold body temperature is a strange thing to feel insecure about, but how little people enjoy touching you when you do leaves a negative imprint 

"-You comfort me when I need it all the time, of course I'm doing the same for you."

Charles wants to argue that it's not the same, that Kevin's past is not the burden of his own constant. _"Kevin,"_ he wants to say, _"It'll never stop, I'll never be free of this, it will never be just memories of the past that haunt me."_ But still, it is so much that he doesn't know how to explain. Would he start from the beginning, with his audacity and hubris? Or from now and be cut open to show his newly twisted, distorted organ that had just recently been a human heart? Neither are good options, now is not the time. Instead of what he wants, truly, to say, he whispers:

"Thank you, my sunshine."

He kisses Kevin's forehead, receiving a chuckle in response. 

"Of course, moth. I love you."

"I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is @floralsick


End file.
